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*Exam number B205525

*Course Introduction to Social Anthropology
*Essay title 1. Why is the house a potent symbol for
anthropological analysis?
2. ‘Rituals heal.’ Do you agree? Why or why not?

*Word count 2817

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Why is the house a potent symbol for anthropological analysis?

At the centre of kinship ties, marital status, gender expectations and the very formation of

personhood lies the house. A potent symbol that has been at the forefront of not only

anthropological study but fieldwork itself. When conducting ethnographies, the house is often

the starting place for many anthropologists and the people with whom they live primary

informants of cultural knowledge. The house is both a suitable and necessary symbol for

anthropological analysis due to its duplicity as a consumer good and as a ‘concept’,

mediating the relationship between the personal, domestic realm and wider society. In this

way it can reflect ideas of consumption, security, and wealth, but also those of identity,

family and belonging – All of which are crucial to anthropology and its endeavours in

understanding human culture, society, and behaviour.

Houses are central to human development and in most societies have proven

to be important locations for personal development and the fostering of kinship ties and

relations. Through looking closely at the house, it becomes clear to see how kin relations

form and evolve. For Madagascar’s Zafimaniry people, the house is utilised as a symbol for

the evolution of kinship ties. As relations grow the house becomes sturdier and more

complete, its “stability and immobility ultimately achieved by a successful union” (Bloch

1995:72). Maurice Bloch observed that for the Zafimaniry the aesthetics and architecture of a

house, therefore, become “the objectification of a relationship”, as postulated by Levi-

Strauss, with different structural elements representing unique parts of the marriage. The

most important being the hearth and “hot post” at the centre of the structure, both of which

form part of the house from the very early stages of construction and continue to play a key

role both structurally and symbolically. Without the hearth, the couple will not have strength
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from food. This in turn means they cannot start a family; and this is not to mention the

significance of cooking, a typical ‘homemaking’ action bringing warmth and vitality to the

space – something which is expected of the relationship between husband and wife as well.

Although the house is often brought up as a metaphor for social relationships, it can also

reveal much as in the case of the Zafimaniry, where not only does the house reveal the crucial

role marriage plays in kinship ties, but it also highlights the poignant position of the house in

Zafimaniry culture, due to their history of displacement after the 1947 anti-colonial

revolution against the French. The Zafimaniry were stripped of their village when the French

burnt it in 1947 and consequently were forced to live in hiding for two and a half years in a

nearby forest (Bloch 1995:70). When they did reluctantly emerge and began “resurrecting”

their former way of living, the house was a momentous element in the return to normality – If

the private sphere was functioning well, then the community would be able to thrive as

kinship bonds strengthened and grew. Thus, by observing and analysing the function of the

house and its symbolic presence within the Zafimaniry community, anthropologists can not

only learn about how kinship ties function in this culture but also see how the lack of

personal housing space in the past has meant that kinship has become a more sacred and

valuable part of Zafimaniry society, expressed through symbolic housing rituals.

Demonstrating the wealth of symbolism and information that the house can offer.

On the contrary, when viewing the house as a consumer good, rather than

a personified object “like a member of the family” (Leinaweaver 2009: 777) actively

involved in daily routines, ceremonies and special occasions, the house turns into a symbol of

wealth and consumerism – placing emphasis on the spread of western, consumerist ideologies

and revealing what it means to “live well” in different cultures. By analysing the symbol of

the house in the ‘transnational Andes’ where the growing investment of migrants in
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construction has led to a strong link between identity and the house, Jessica B. Leinaweaver

highlights how the anthropological study of the house is becoming more important due to the

ever-changing nature of our homes. In the Andes, houses have become “flexible and

metamorphosising” (Leinaweaver 2009: 784) constantly improving, as migrant kin send over

remittances and bring new ‘improved’ standards of living each time they visit. In the Andes,

these new types of homes are known as Zafacasa and it can be said that as the Zafacasa

grows and ameliorates, it adapts itself into a “collection of socially meaningful purchases.”

(Leinaweaver 2009: 784). Every material, item and room holds symbolic meaning,

illustrating many Andean families’ transition away from a rustic, traditional lifestyle to a

modernised and potentially more well-respected one. This shift is particularly evident in the

switch from a “lidded opening in the concrete floor” (Leinaweaver 2009: 786) to an indoor

toilet fit with adequate plumbing, signalling not only an ethnic shift and “whitening” of the

Andean Community, but a shift in identity as possessions and money become more valuable

to individuals. The house stops just being a shelter or private space, but instead a display of

economic ability, taste, and personality. For the Andean community, aligning themselves

with the west through the appearance and appliances in their home elevates their position in

society and allows them to distance themselves from ‘peasants’ (i.e., the native communities).

The symbol of the house is therefore crucial to understanding our ever-evolving world; a

more contemporary example of this may be the blurred lines between house and workspace

as a result of the COVID-19 Pandemic. More and more people are investing in office spaces

within the home or adapting the house to be a suitable work environment, which in turn

indicates an alteration to where and how we work.

The above examples demonstrate how the symbol of the house can represent wealth,

consumption, success but also family and identity; but it is also important to note the value of
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analysing what homelessness therefore implies: A lack of security and consequently faltering

family bonds and kinship ties? A lessened sense of identity? Anthropologist Bruce O’Neill

suggests that this is the case, drawing out the links between homelessness, boredom, and

downward mobility in Post-Communist Bucharest. In Romania, after 18 years of deprivation

under communism, the rise of capitalism has increased the desire and desperation to

consume. Consequently, the house has obtained a new level of importance – No longer a

controlled, surveilled location but an economic tool and display of wealth, like that of the

transnational Andes. Yet, a dramatic increase in homelessness meant this wasn’t an option for

many, leading to what Bruce O’Neill calls “chronic under-consumption” where the lack of a

house, private space, and the inability to purchase goods, has unfortunately led to a decline of

self and lacking notion of personhood. This has therefore led to increasing levels of

depression across the country (O’Neill 2014: 8-31). In this context, therefore, the house takes

on a new level of symbolism as a positive, stable space that adds a new layer of depth to

one’s personhood as they feel part of a broader community and can participate in general

societal tastes and ways of life.

In conclusion, it cannot be denied that the house is a potent symbol for

anthropological analysis. Anthropology insists that we perceive the world from others’

perspectives and the house is the perfect vehicle to do so as it straddles the boundary between

personal and communal, demonstrating how material culture and societal values are enacted

in an intimate environment. If the home is where the heart is, then it is also where kinship

ties, identity and values begin, break and develop. And so, the house becomes an essential

symbol upon which many of the most prominent anthropological questions unfold, and

therefore worthy of anthropological analysis.

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‘Rituals heal.’ Do you agree? Why or why not?

Ritualistic practices unite and heal humans, providing actionable and stereotyped

solutions to problems that may be hard to grasp, whilst creating common beliefs and values.

Rituals redirect humans, dramatizing events and thus providing people with an identity that

can help construct a sense of personhood. Whilst their sole purpose may not be to heal, rituals

more often than not provide a sense of ease. Through the collective effervescence (Durkheim

1912) that they induce, rituals make life meaningful and symbolic and thus can transform the

life course, aiding the process of healing. Whilst anthropologists have wrestled with a

definition for ‘ritual’ over the years, some associating it with ceremony and others with

religion, rituals are inevitably crucial to the human experience, helping us to express cultural

processes, and generate meaning. For David Kertzer, rituals are always wrapped in a web of

symbolism (Kertzer 1998) and in this way rituals become directory actions, leading humans

through life and towards healing. Through examining three key ethnographies: Beth

Conklin’s study of Amazonian Mortuary Rituals, Anne Christine Taylor’s inquiry into the

Ecuadorian Jivaro’s transition to manhood and W.H.R Rivers ethnography on the interplay

between medicine, magic and science in Melanesia, it can be revealed that rituals and healing

go hand in hand, whilst revealing hidden power-structures and values present in different

social groups and communities.

For many cultures, rituals are simply the norm. Humans perform them routinely, often

not questioning their deeper reasoning or impacts, this is seen is day to day western life in

events such as the blowing out of candles on a birthday cake or the burial of those who’ve

passed away. For the Wari People, an indigenous population from the Brazilian Amazon,

endo-cannibalistic rituals were also performed without question. Anthropophagous funerals

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were deemed to be the most suitable way of parting with the dead, beginning with an emotive

dismembering of the body before consumption and the eventual cremation of unsuitable body

parts. Contrary to harmful western perceptions of cannibalism as a violent, primitive practice,

for the Wari people it was carried out in an honourable and respectful manner. It both

radically changed the deceased’s body in a literal sense and symbolically represented the

unfortunate impact death would have on the mourners. Conklin highlights that cannibalism

for the Wari was “a primary obligation of affinity” and “refusal to do so would have insulted

the dead person’s family” (Conklin 1995: 81), revealing the importance of community within

the process. Thus, when reading Conklin’s ethnography, it becomes evident that these

mortuary rituals were more than just a way of honouring the dead; in fact, it appears as

though these rituals played a more significant role regarding the kin left behind, transforming

their pain and internal conflict, and channelling it in a “harmless direction” (Gluckman 1956

cited in Eriksen 1995: 273). Unlike the process of dismemberment for the Wari, cannibalism

had much less emotion and intensity associated with it. It was about finality and transition.

For the Wari left behind, knowing that the deceased were sent on their journey to the afterlife

respectfully and compassionately, brought calm. By thematising the relationship between the

earthly and spiritual realms physically through ingestion, cannibalism mediated the suffering

experienced by kin and as a result, provided a sense of healing and closure. Nevertheless, this

ritualistic practice has not always been observed in this way. Sagan (1974 cited in Conklin

1995:76) insisted that the notion of endocannibalism as an honorary, healing act was wrong,

suggesting that despite any ritualistic processes it was a part of, at the core, cannibalism

expressed buried anger at the dead for leaving the living. However, when the practice ceased

in the 1960s due to pressure from the Brazilian state, the bereaved felt they were unable to

cope with the all-consuming memories of the dead. Elders also felt a greater tension

concerning the afterlife, as the lack of finality offered in burials meant death was less
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symbolic. Demonstrating the pivotal role ritual and tradition can play in personal and

communal experiences of grief, mourning, and consequently healing.

Another way in which ritualistic practices can heal humans and thus strengthen

kinship ties is through the sense of predictability, ease, and control that they bring to

uncertain and frightening events in the life course such as ageing. Anne Christine Taylor

examined this in the Jivaroan search for the soul or ‘Waken’ through ritualistic hallucinatory

experiences. Within her ethnography she illustrates how amongst the Ecuadorian Jivaro, the

ritual acquisition of visions by young boys is a crucial step in the construction of personhood

and identity, constituting “one of the most important rituals of their existence” (Taylor 1993:

660). As with all rituals, there is a degree of symbolic meaning. In this case, visions became a

symbol for adult knowledge, power and consequently authority. For the Jivaro, a lack of

visions is synonymous with disease and illness, making the body more vulnerable to negative

spirits and impudent thoughts. Without the ‘waken’ boys are deemed weak, vulnerable, and

purposeless, thus these ritual visions can be seen as ‘healing’ the young Jivaro from

immaturity and childhood fragility. For the Jivaro, becoming a fully-fledged man also

strengthens and introduces kinship ties to their life, something which is expressed through the

songs sung by the community that speak of the child’s “kinless status and pitiable loneliness”

(Taylor 1993: 661). In acquiring the vision, Jivaroan men, therefore, obtain a sense of

direction and meaning in their life, displayed through newfound confidence and control in

their tone of voice and composure – this brings them to the same level of moral authority and

strength as their male elders, in particular their fathers. This could be seen as mending or

healing the kinship ties and relations with their elders whom they would have previously been

distanced from in their childish frame of mind. However, in suggesting that rituals heal the

Jivaro from childlike negligence, a sense of witchcraft and magic is ascribed to the concept of
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ritual. The transition to adulthood seems not to be an induced occurrence but a random one,

contrary to rituals that are, for the majority, consistent and orderly. Therefore, if taking a

more logical approach perhaps it could be said that in this case, rituals do not heal but instead

provide a sense of redirection. The hallucinatory experiences of the Arutam enable the men to

move freely “between the ritual, spiritual context and the everyday context.” (Eriksen 195:

276), and so they emerge from the Arutam wiser and more knowledgeable, as they have been

able to remove themselves from the everyday and consequently reflect on their position in it.

For the Jivaro, ritual visions are therefore a prompt for redirection in life and whilst they do

‘finalise’ childhood, as when healing ends trauma or illness, these rituals also play a key, if

not more important role than healing, in the creation of identity and transition to manhood.

On the contrary, for some communities rituals are essential to healing, and deeply

intertwined within notions of illness and medicine. In cultures where illness is seen as being

invoked by witchcraft or other spiritual elements rather than germs and disease, rituals

become the explanatory way to heal. W.H.R Rivers explores this through his ethnographic

study of several Melanesian subgroups who typically take a personalistic approach to the

causes of illness, and notes that contrary to western medicine which links healing with

diagnosis and the body, for many Melanesians the focal point of healing is to have a

prognosis of the situation revealing the nature of the illness as either deserved or cursed

(Rivers 1999: 33). Ritualistic divination services give a prognosis through different symbols

that may appear in natural objects such as rocks, plants, and particular fruits. By naming and

circumscribing reasons and possible outcomes of the illness, these sort of medical rituals, like

religious rituals, enable the victim’s belief in the possibility of recovery and mobilize the

healing and recovery. This performative ritualistic healing demonstrates the power rituals

hold for many cultures and communities. Whether the healing is truly internalised is still
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contemplated, but it cannot be denied that contrary to western medicine which offers a direct,

perhaps impersonal, “magic bullet” (Paul Elrich 1907) effect on the body, rituals can provide

individuals with a sense of support, comfort, and real ease.

To conclude, rituals play a pivotal role in the process of healing, dramatizing abstract

concepts and rendering that which may seem overwhelming and other-worldly in a concrete

and recognisable series of actions. This in turn offers people a sense of relief, easing tensions

and anxiety. Rituals make difficult transitions into adulthood rewarding, as seen in the Jivaro.

Or for the Wari, easing people through bereavement, and offering a sense of closure. Even in

a more literal sense, as seen in Melanesia, rituals allow humans to regain control through

their nature as directional actions – taking us away from the problem, offering a new

perspective and thus fostering a sense of healing. In closing, it cannot be denied that rituals

heal, whether they are as effective as traditional forms of medicine is debatable, but in

connecting individuals with their communities and wider socio-political orders, their power is

undeniable.
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BIBLIOGRAPHY

Bloch, Maurice. 1995. The resurrection of the house among the Zafimaniry of Madagascar,
in About the House: Lévi-Strauss and Beyond.  J. Carsten and Hugh-Jones, eds.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, pp. 69-83.

Conklin, Beth. 1995.  Thus our Bodies, thus our Custom’: Mortuary Cannibalism in an
Amazonian society. American Ethnologist 22(1): 75-101

Durkheim, Émile. 1912. The Elementary Forms of the Religious Life. Oxford: Oxford
University Press

Eriksen, Thomas-Hylland. 2015. Religion and Ritual, In Small Places, Large Issues. London:
Pluto Press, pp. 264-286

Kertzer, David I. 1988. Ritual, Politics and Power. New Haven: Yale University press

Leinaweaver, Jessica B. 2009. Raising the roof in the transnational Andes: Building houses,
forging kinship. In Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute 15: 777-796.

O’Neill, Bruce. 2014. Cast Aside: Boredom, Downward Mobility, and Homelessness in Post-
Communist Bucharest. In Cultural Anthropology 29(1): 8-31.

Rivers, W.H.R. 1999. Processes of Diagnosis and Prognosis, In Medicine, Magic, and
Religion: The Fitzpatrick Lectures (1915-1916). London: Routledge, pp.27-50

Taylor, Anne-Christine. 1993. Remembering to Forget: Identity, Mourning and Memory

among the Jivaro. Man (N.S.) 28: 653-578